Parallel Lines- *RAYOR*

Chapter 9

There were some things you could never outgrow. Like music, or love, or family, which are so intertwined that talking about one is like talking about the other- things that, the older you are, the more you grow into them.

Arielle's been acting strange recently. Well, she tells us why. She's lonely. And I don't have that much time for her anyway.

Aster says I should be nicer, but I'm not used to being woken up at five in the morning by her taking a shower and then doing her morning yoga- clattering, thumping, and worst of all, at every move, whispering to herself- "Yes, that's it. Perfect. Perfect."

Ugh.

In fact, I burst in on her when she was in her 'downward dog' position and scared her to death.

"Christ!" Arielle screeches. "Blake, I almost died!"

"This would be the optimal time and place," I say. "But you're waking me up. I usually sleep for two more hours. I think I only got four hours of sleep today! And yesterday!"

"If you don't sleep for eight hours, your eyes will get puffy," says Arielle gently. "Go back to bed. You don't need to check on me, I'm fine."

Her arrogance is what gets me. Because she doesn't know she's being arrogant. And I can bear it with Aster around, but when he isn't I get really mad.

"I wasn't checking on you, I-" I take deep breaths. She watches me with a bemused expression. "Please do your yoga quieter."

"I am quiet," says Arielle.

"You are so not," I say. "I can hear you dragging out your yoga mat and thumping on the floor, and whispering the moves to yourself- you live in the room next door to mine."

"Oh," says Arielle, but her eyes are dreamy and far-away. She brushes her golden-blonde hair, humming. "Your hair looks good like that. All long." She smiles at me. I cross my arms.

"I'm not here to look pretty. And neither are you, Arielle."

"But I do," says Arielle, hurt.

"I-" I splutter. Yes, Arielle is lovely. With her angelic features and sky-blue eyes, porcelain skin and air of kindness, how could she not be? She's not just a generic blonde. She's so stupidly, infuriatingly nice, and someone I can't bully. It's like kicking an orphan. She doesn't know how to be mean.

Arielle smiles at me and whistles a little tune. "It's from Fur Elise. You play it on the piano, right?"

I don't want to talk about it. "Uh-hmm. Bye." I leave. I'm awake now and it's maddening. I want to swim. But I know I'll drift off and be gone for hours.

So I go to the music room.

It's grand. Golden embellishments. A chandelier throwing off dazzling light, a rich ivory rug. The only room with white in this whole palace- maybe even in the whole of the Underworld. There are only two instruments. A grand piano, jet black, with bone-white keys, stood at the front of a large, rectangular window with a ledge so wide you can sit on it. And a violin- three-quarter size, too small for me, but I still play it on occasion.

But someone else is playing it now.

Gabriel's playing. His hands are moving so fast they seem to be blurred. He moves through them with ease, but when he reaches the long note he struggles with the vibrato. He's too tense. Then the moment is over and he is playing a chromatic scale. I haven't heard music in the house for years. And this is special- not one piece but improvised, many scales merged, arpeggios. He's trying out different tunes and dismissing them, then settles on E flat minor.